


post you blues

by bellawritess



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Melancholy, Sharing a Bed, THIS fic is what the friendship/love tag is for, abuse of the concept of missing someone, easy love, how to tag this, post you blues, the mysterious cashton honeymoon, was sitting here like wtf is the friendship/love tag for. and then i realized, yeah i have. no other explanation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25612075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellawritess/pseuds/bellawritess
Summary: Maybe Calum’s tipsy from the wine, or maybe the pseudo-romance of the candlelit dinner is affecting him, but he exhales loudly and says, “I wish we really were in love.”
Relationships: Calum Hood/Ashton Irwin
Comments: 30
Kudos: 78





	post you blues

**Author's Note:**

> keeping my first kiss tag streak ~~which really isn't a streak anymore but just pretend~~ :)))))
> 
> uh.............a month or thereabouts ago on tumblr kj was talking about the absolute sheer madness of [post you blues](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JN8CY47qgbk) and ashton [calling](https://cashton-network.tumblr.com/post/175516039742/rainbowsmuke-you-know-me-and-calum-are-about-to) it a honeymoon and then this was borne of that so. thanks kj she'll never see this note so it's our secret <3
> 
> liberties taken regarding what the fuck happened with the post-you blues...thing because NOBODY KNOWSSSSS
> 
> am posting this for a couple reasons mainly because the draft on ao3 is going to expire in four days regardless but ALSO posting it specifically today because that anon on tumblr said it's their birthday today SO, tumblr anon, this one's for you! happy birthday <3 enjoy
> 
> tw for alcohol (not Very Much but it is there and if u would like more information my tumblr is in the end notes !!)

The sun is sinking behind threadbare clouds, vanishing under the glittering waters and bouncing off the window pane of the beach house, when Ashton tells Calum, "I love you."

Calum looks over. “Yeah, I know.”

Ashton rolls his eyes, fond. “This is nice. I’m gonna miss this.”

“Me too,” Calum says, kind of talking about both of Ashton’s comments. “We should just quit music. Move in together somewhere remote like this, and, like, fall off the grid.”

“Oh, good idea. There’s no way that could backfire.”

“Yeah. Zero backlash whatsoever.”

“No bandmates who’d hate us.”

“Ah, they’d support the decision.”

“Right,” Ashton says, chuckling. “Because Michael’s always been such an endlessly supportive kind of bloke.”

Calum laughs. “Okay, Luke would support us.”

Ashton hums and sinks back against the couch cushions. “Enough sentiment. It’s a movie night.”

Calum hits play on the movie, although in the time between picking the film and making the popcorn and sitting down to watch it, he’s forgotten what it is they’re watching. He doesn’t suspect they’ll get very far into it, though. He and Ashton are both prone to falling asleep during movies, to the utter dismay of Michael and Luke. Michael’s chronically incapable of going to sleep before, like, two in the morning, though, so that doesn’t really feel like Calum’s problem.

Sure enough, an hour in Ashton’s slumped against Calum, head tilted onto his shoulder and gently snoring. Calum feels immeasurably fond; he lifts his arm carefully to curve over the back of the couch, and Ashton blinks a couple times, obviously disoriented with sleep.

“You can sleep,” Calum reassures him. “Just thought I’d make it more comfortable.”

Ashton doesn’t say anything, just snuggles back up to Calum and falls immediately asleep again. Calum wonders if he’d even woken. He watches Ashton for another moment, so at peace, cozied up to Calum’s side, and feels awash with melancholy. 

They only got a week of this, and tomorrow is their last day. Tomorrow is going to be packing, anyway, although Ashton says he’s planning a very fancy dinner, but overall it won’t feel like a last day. Today is their last _real_ day, and Calum misses Ashton already, sitting next to him on this couch. The movie is droning in the background, but Calum leans his head against Ashton’s and breathes out slowly.

Falling asleep will mean tomorrow will arrive faster, and Calum wants to freeze this moment and live in it forever. The band isn’t going anywhere. Their fans won’t go anywhere. If he and Ashton extend their vacation — _honeymoon_ , Ashton had jokingly called it, although Calum’s oddly endeared to the term — nobody will care. 

It’s too late for that, though. The flights are already booked, and Calum has made plans with Mali for the day after he gets back to Sydney. Not to mention Ashton’s got all these, like, co-writes he wants to do in LA. And Luke will be waiting eagerly for Ashton’s return anyway, and Michael waiting for Calum, and the point is it’s not possible, but Calum still _wants_ it. Wants to stay with Ashton, hidden away at the beach. He feels full to bursting with altogether too many feelings; preemptive sadness, love like a crashing wave. He wishes an English word existed for the feeling of missing someone. 

Ashton snuffles in his sleep. Calum sighs and closes his eyes. No chance he falls asleep now, not with this heavy weight in his chest, an unfortunate mixture of sorrow and affection, but he can at least take the time to be in the moment. Center himself. The future will happen when it does. Right here, right now, Ashton is here, and Calum is here with him, and Calum is lucky.

He doesn’t fall asleep, but it doesn’t really matter. It feels dreamlike anyway.

~

  
  


They both wake up in Ashton’s bed, where they’ve slept since the second night. It just seemed silly, to each have their own room when the whole _point_ of the vacation was to spend time together. They’ve shared a bed before. Calum likes cuddling with Ashton. Ashton is also keen on cuddles from basically anyone — a cuddle-slut, Michael calls him — so Calum had moved his shit into Ashton’s room and that had been that.

Now he wakes with Ashton’s strong arms wrapped securely around him, exhaling into the cold of the morning air. Resisting the urge to fall right back to sleep, he carefully shifts in Ashton’s grip until his face is pressed to Ashton’s neck, which is kind of uncomfortable. He wriggles himself until Ashton’s hold on him loosens, and Ashton’s eyes flutter open as Calum pulls backwards.

“Where’re you going,” Ashton mumbles, voice thick with sleep. Calum wants to close the space between them, kiss the sleep off Ashton’s lips. It’s a scary thought but not an unfamiliar one — Calum’s been thinking about kissing Ashton since the first day they met — and, like every other time, he pushes it away.

“Nowhere,” he replies. “Just making myself more comfortable.”

Ashton makes a noise that could either be assent or disapproval. “‘S cold,” he slurs. “Come back.”

“It’s packing day,” Calum reminds Ashton, not that that means anything. “And it’s almost ten.”

“Won’t take us nine hours to pack.” Ashton fixes a tired, pleading face on Calum, which is almost more endearing by the fact that his eyes are drooping shut. Ashton’s so perpetually tired. Probably because he insists on waking up at eight almost every day. 

“You should get up,” Calum says, although he would love to curl back up in Ashton’s arms and sleep the day away. That sounds like just about the loveliest thing ever.

“Your mum should,” Ashton grunts. He squeezes his eyes shut and then, sighing, opens them. “Fuck you. Can’t a guy sleep in?”

“We did. It’s ten.”

“Okay, sleep in more.” Ashton rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, and Calum watches the way his hair splays out on the pillow. He’s so goddamn pretty, a sculpture or an oil painting or some other work of art yet to be discovered. Adonis would be envious. That’s a disservice to Ashton, though, Calum thinks; Ashton’s magnetic and pulsing with a rhythm and _alive,_ and no static likeness could ever capture that constant thrum. 

“What?” Ashton’s turned his head and Calum is still gazing at him, constructing a mental picture frame around him, thinking maybe Ashton could be one of those moving portraits like in _Harry Potter_ , but now he’s caught in the act, and a small smile is playing at Ashton’s lips. “What are you lookin’ at?”

He says it like a threat, a hint of an exaggerated Brooklyn accent seeping into the words, but Calum knows Ashton’s teasing, and Ashton doesn’t really care if Calum is looking at him. He says, “You.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Ashton says, and the smile grows slightly. “Why?”

“ _Why?_ What kind of question is that?”

“There’s so much else to look at,” Ashton says, gesturing ambiguously, although his smile seems to say otherwise. He rolls once, twice, shoving up into Calum’s space, and kisses him on the cheek. “Joking. But I wish you could look at _you_. You’re the prettiest thing in the room.” And he slides out of bed, declaring as he does that the shower is his first, leaving Calum to process that comment on his own.

Which he does not. There’s packing to be done, and it’ll probably take an hour just to sort out which clothes belong to Calum and which belong to Ashton. So Calum gets up and makes the bed and doesn’t think about Ashton calling him the prettiest thing in the room. 

~

  
  


Ashton bans Calum from the kitchen-slash-dining-room after lunch, which isn’t really fair because Calum gets snacky, so Ashton bargains by bringing him snacks. He’s flat-out forbidden from the kitchen, though. That ends up not being a huge problem; they don’t get a ton of packing done _before_ lunch, meaning Calum has to sort through his and Ashton’s stuff and then get his own packing done. It’s also not really fair to leave Calum to sort through their clothes alone, but Calum puts on some music and makes it a good time. Ashton comes in at one point, cheeks flushed.

“Having fun?”

“I am,” Calum says, air-guitaring along to The Rock Show. “You’re all pink.”

“Kitchen’s really warm,” Ashton explains, pushing a hand through his hair, which is curling up from the heat of the kitchen, probably. Calum doesn’t have words for how much he loves those curls, so he settles for reaching out to brush them away from Ashton’s face.

“I can’t believe you’re making us a fancy dinner and not giving me a chance to retaliate with a more romantic move,” he says. It’s thoughtless to call it romantic, but it feels romantic. Calum knows it isn’t, but Ashton had called this a honeymoon anyway, so he’d started it.

“Gotta have the last word,” Ashton says airily. “I won’t be one-upped. I’m gonna romance you so hard, Hood. Look out.”

“I’m prepared to swoon,” Calum says, and holds up a black t-shirt. “Who the fuck does this belong to?”

Ashton shrugs. “Just take it, man,” he says. “Don’t need any more black shirts.”

“I think I own every single one of your black shirts at this point, though,” Calum says, bringing the shirt to his nose to sniff it. He’s hoping the way it smells will give him a hint regarding its original owner, but it just smells kind of musty. A load of laundry is in Calum’s immediate future. He folds it up and drops it into his suitcase.

“Well, I’ll get new ones,” Ashton says easily. “Rather you have them.”

“What the fuck do I need with _your_ black shirts? You’re a bit bigger than me anyway. And it’s not like I can’t get my own black shirts.”

“But black is such a good color on you,” Ashton points out. Calum can’t really argue with that without being self-deprecating, and he really does like wearing black, so he just huffs, smiling, and picks up the next shirt.

“Just so you know, you’re indebted to me for doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Separating our shit.”

“I didn’t ask you to! Just divide it in half.”

“No way,” Calum says. “I like my clothes, thank you.”

“Well then you’re doing it to yourself. Anyway, I’m making us dinner.”

“You _like_ making dinner. And you’ve banned me from the kitchen.”

“Which reminds me.” Ashton grins. “Gotta head back in there. Love you!”

“Fuck off,” Calum says at his back.

“Say it back!”

“You’re not even fucking going anywhere!”

“Say it back, asshole!”

“Okay, love you!” Calum rolls his eyes, although he’s grinning like an idiot. “Bitch.”

The rest of packing goes roughly the same way, although it only takes Calum a couple hours more before he’s folded up all his stuff, and, for lack of anything better to do, folded up Ashton’s stuff, too. Nearly everything is packed away, and Calum looks around the room, which feels colder somehow. It’s not that the pair of them are particularly messy, but just the two of them for the week had led to a certain degree of disorder in their shared room. Now the room’s almost as clean as when they'd arrived and Calum wants to see Ashton’s ripped skinny jeans on the floor one more time. He startles, thinking about She Looks So Perfect, and then laughs out loud. That’s kind of funny. Circular, in a sense.

Not that She Looks So Perfect had actually been about a real girl with real ripped skinny jeans lying on any real floor. But it’s still kind of poetic, in Calum’s opinion.

Finally, at six-thirty, Ashton comes into the room and says, “Dinner! You better be dressed nice.”

“Dream on,” Calum says. “I’m not putting on fancy clothes unless fucking Oprah’s here.”

Ashton chuckles. “That’s fine. I’m a mess anyway. Didn’t really account for the, like, kitchen heat.”

“No, you look fine,” Calum tells him. “Like, debauched.”

“Oh, well in that case.” Ashton smiles, wry. He _does_ look debauched, though Calum thinks maybe he shouldn’t have said it. “Okay, come on, come on, dinner. Phones on the coffee table.”

Calum’s phone is still in the room. He’s hardly used it in the past week, and it’s been amazing. Ashton covers Calum’s eyes and guides him into the dining room, and then says, “Okay...open them.”

“Your hands are _over_ my eyes, you idiot.”

Ashton pulls his hands away; Calum blinks into the dim light, which is coming mostly from tea lights chasing away the darkness, lined up along the counter, and a proper candle in the middle of the table.

“Oh, holy shit, Ash,” Calum breathes. “You really went all out.”

“Okay, to be fair, the candles are kind of a joke. I just wanted to do the whole, like, thing.” Ashton grins, self-conscious, maybe, and Calum wants to reassure him that he thinks it’s charming, but there’s not really a way to say it without sounding smitten, so he just grins back.

“Can we get to the eating part, then? I’m hungry.”

“Yes! Of course. So we have stuffed peppers, and then lentils and tofu, and also a salad. The salad is normal but I figured since you don’t even really like salad it wouldn’t be a problem? And obviously, wine.”

Calum stares while Ashton sits down. He lowers himself into his own seat, but stares further, until Ashton says, for the second time today, “What?”

“I just, I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting, like, an actual fancy dinner. But you made an actual fancy dinner.”

“Honestly, who do you take me for?” Ashton jokes, brushing the hair away from his face to no avail; it keeps flopping back over his forehead, curls on full display. 

Calum smiles broadly at him, and they dig in, although Ashton makes the executive decision to turn on the lights for a “more enjoyable dining experience.” He also blows out the tea lights on the counters, but leaves the candle burning between them, insisting it’s essential to maintaining the mood. Calum’s not sure what the mood is supposed to be, but the candle is nice.

When they’ve finished the dinner (and half the bottle of wine), Ashton adds, “There’s also brownies, by the way,” and Calum thinks maybe he should propose to Ashton for real before anyone else gets a chance and steals him away.

“What a good fiancé you are,” he teases. “Makes dinner _and_ dessert. Don’t know what I did to deserve this.”

Ashton breathes a laugh. “I can’t have brownies yet, I’m far too full.”

“It’s fine, me too.”

“So,” Ashton says. “It’s good? You enjoyed the dinner?”

Calum makes a face that he hopes conveys _well, duh._ “Of course I did. I’d have enjoyed it if you’d just made, like, spaghetti, but this was — like, this was fucking incredible, Ashton. You really didn’t have to do all this.”

“I know, but I wanted to. It’s the last night, you know?”

Calum had been trying his best to forget, although it’s been looming over his head all day. “Can I admit something?”

“Always.”

Calum swallows around a new lump in his throat. “I don’t really…I don’t really want to go back,” he whispers.

Ashton’s face twists into a sympathetic expression, and then one with a little more sadness. “Yeah. I don’t really, either. I mean, I do, but…not yet.”

It’s not as simple as deciding to stay, but for a moment Calum entertains the idea. It would be nice. Just the two of them in this little beach house. Calum hasn’t even opened Twitter in a week, and neither has Ashton, and they’ve been caught up in their own world, and it’s been so lovely. Calum has been pretending that Ashton is all his, this week, when he knows that’s not the case. 

He misses Michael. He misses Luke. But he also misses Ashton, and Ashton’s still here in front of him, and Calum wonders why that can be, why that’s even allowed, and how it’s possible to love someone this much and not seize up from the strength of it.

He reaches across the table and takes Ashton’s hand, which feels natural even though it’s kind of not. Ashton squeezes his hand and they sit there for a long moment, quiet, holding hands.

Maybe Calum’s tipsy from the wine, or maybe the pseudo-romance of the candlelit dinner is affecting him, but he exhales loudly and says, “I wish we really were in love.”

Ashton frowns. “Meaning what?”

“Just, like, this is all lovely, but it’s a joke, you know? This isn’t really us.” Calum shrugs, and vaguely senses that this is the kind of territory he’s not supposed to cross into, but he’s already here and Ashton hasn’t vanished in a cloud of dust yet. “I wish it was. I think we’d do it well.”

“Why isn’t this really us?” Ashton says, with a look of confusion. “I think it is.”

“You’re not really in love with me,” Calum says dryly. 

“And you’re in love with me?”

Calum swallows, looks away. “Hard to say, really.”

“How is it hard to say?”

“If I am,” Calum says, “then it’ll have been since we met. I’ve never felt differently about you.”

“Really?” Ashton says, raising his eyebrows. “Huh.”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Maybe, possibly, this conversation shouldn’t be happening. Maybe Calum shouldn’t have said anything. The room feels too warm even though the stove’s been off for awhile.

“No, I mean, yes,” Ashton says, and shakes his head. “It’s hard to believe you’d be in love with me. But that’s not — I wasn’t in love with you when I met you. Although to be fair, you were, like, sixteen. So I think that would have been weird.”

“Well.”

“But I am now,” Ashton says. “And I think we’re good at it already. This really is us, you know. If we do it, it’s us. If we say it’s not a joke, then it’s not.”

Calum chews on the inside of his lip, trying to think about that. “Sorry, did you just say you are now? Are what? In love with me?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Ashton echoes.

 _Yes,_ Calum thinks furiously, trying to read Ashton’s expression to tell if he’s joking, or lying, or something equally cruel. But like always, all he finds in Ashton’s face is honesty. 

“You’re serious.”

“Yes. Are you?”

“As a heart attack.” They’re still holding hands, Calum realizes. Ashton hasn’t made any motion to pull away, so neither does Calum. “Now I _really_ don’t want to go home.”

Ashton laughs. “Well, we’ve still got tonight, and the ride to the airport, and…” He trails off. Calum hates that they won’t even get the same flight; they’re going in different directions. Ashton’s going back to LA, Calum to Sydney; it’ll probably be weeks before they see each other again, if not more.

“I’ll miss you,” Calum says desperately, as if Ashton doesn’t know that. “God, we spend so much time together. It’s sickening that I’m going to miss you.”

“Aw, Cal,” Ashton says, rubbing his thumb over the back of Calum’s hand. “I think it’s adorable. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know. I’d also be very hurt if you didn’t miss me after you _just_ said you’re in love with me. Like, talk about mixed signals.”

Calum laughs despite himself. “I can’t stand you,” he tells Ashton, who smiles indulgently.

“I think it’s time for dessert,” he says. “Stop thinking about the future, Cal. Just be in the moment. We’re having brownies. We’re on the beach. We’re in love.”

Calum’s heart stutters around his chest. “Are we?” he asks, quietly.

Ashton shrugs. “I am,” he says. 

“I am too. I was first. I already told you.”

“Well,” Ashton says, “I think that by definition we’re in love, then.”

Some part of Calum wants to make a joke, because this feels far too big to be between them, untouched by anyone else, barely observed. _How can we be in love when we’ve never even kissed?_ he wants to say, with a sparkling smirk, but that will ruin the moment, and Calum doesn’t want to ruin the moment. He wants to bottle the moment, to frame it for looking at later when he’s feeling sad.

So he doesn’t say anything, just lets himself break into a natural smile, because, well. They’re having brownies, and they’re on the beach, and they’re in love. 

(In the end, Calum's too much of a coward. It's Ashton who kisses him, easy like it makes sense, and suddenly it does. All that’s left in this room is two packed suitcases and whatever they’re planning to wear tomorrow, and Calum kisses back like his life depends on it, which it might. He’s not sure how it’s possible to feel so empty and so full at the same time. 

For years, Calum’s been trying to do better at staying present, at not looking too far forward, getting caught up in what might or might not be, but he can’t help it. He misses Ashton so much already. There’s a ruthless ache stinging in his chest, and so he breaks the kiss because if it goes on much longer he’ll probably start to cry, and he doesn’t want Ashton getting any wrong ideas, or growing concerned.

“I miss you,” he murmurs anyway, foreheads pressed together.

Ashton cradles his face gently. “Don’t,” he says. “I’m here. Right here, Calum.”

Calum closes his eyes and breathes in, tucking this moment close to his heart for remembering during the harder days. Ashton will be here even when he isn’t. Ashton will always be where Calum needs him to be.) 

**Author's Note:**

> SORRY BUT LIKE I DONT EVEN?????? IM THINKING ONCE AGAIN ABOUT POST YOU BLUES WHAT THE FUCK. LIKE HOW ABSOLUTELY FUCKED UP IS THAT. okay. ANYWAY. ANYWAY! anyway im on TUMBLR right here [@clumsyclifford](http://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/) come say hey. alright that's all goodbye


End file.
